Starting Over
by Flame-san
Summary: Germany wants to be strong again. Germany wants everyone to forget about the War. Germany wants everyone... to go away... Warning:Insane!Germany.
1. Chapter 1

Germany wishes that he could live forever. Yes, in theory, he could, but what if he was destroyed? What would happen at the apocalypse, when it came?

He wishes that he could live forever, only him, and that the other nations would die. There are so many things he wants gone from the world, so many memories of blood and pain, that cannot die so long as there are nations on earth who remember them.

He wishes for a day when the name of Adolf will no longer be remembered as anything more than a common German name. For the day when he can cry for what he became, for the demise of his boss, and for what they both lost. So many monstrosities happened, and Germany knows now who to blame them on, but a part of him still misses him. It is a misplaced feeling, he wants to believe, but he knows, logically, that it's only natural, for him to hold on to this. After all, Hitler saved him from darkness, from utter destruction.

Germany watches the sun rise, and wishes that he could go someplace, someplace where there was no one there but him, so he could cry, and let each one of his tears carry away a shard of his feelings with it. But he is a nation, and he cannot leave. There is nowhere on Earth that he can go, where he can really be alone. Most of the nations have stopped blaming him for what happened during the War, but their anger doesn't matter. He tears out his hair at night, sometimes, locked in the agony of guilt. He has to smooth his hair back, still, to hide the patches of scalp that show through. These feelings, this guilt and this sorrow, they hurt. He wants them out.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Germany can feel the warmth of the sun, but the rest of him is cold, and sharp, a knife left out at night. Even when the sun rises again, the knife is like ice, ready to slay all that stands before it. Oh, how Germany wished he were still that knife. He went through his night, and then he came out into the day, but still cold, still angry, and he was so, so great.

Germany wants to be great again.

Germany wants everyone to forget what he did, so he start over, and he can do whatever the hell he wants.

Germany wants everyone to go away.

Standing, Germany goes to Poland's house first. His gun is heavy on his hip, and his knife is cool against his palm. He traces it along his arms, tracing lines, fascinated, as the blood begins to pool and trickle down to his palms, where they stain his fingers red.


	2. Chapter 2

When he gets to Poland's house, Germany steps inside without knocking, ignoring the blinding pink walls around him. He can hear Poland's voice, and it is not afraid. Poland doesn't know he's here.

The sound of that light, carefree voice sends ice down Germany's spine. Oh, the malice that must hide behind that voice, the anger and the vengeance. Poland will never forget what Germany did to him, no, not ever. So Poland must be the first to die.

Standing in the doorway of a sitting room, Germany watches the back of Poland's head. It would be far too easy to shoot him, here, but that's not what he wants. He wants Poland to die knowing why he died, and Germany needs to be sure of Poland's death. If Poland survived this, Germany would never be able to start over.

So Germany walks over to Poland, who turns, and jumps back in shock and fear.

"G-Germany! What a surprise! W-what are you here for?"

Germany smiles.

"I'm setting things right, Poland."

Stepping up to the smaller nation, Germany reaches around and pins Poland to him, touching his knife to the back of Poland's neck.

"You see, Poland, you remember too many things. I want to start over, and I did too much to you. You'd never let me start over. So I have to get rid of you."

Poland shudders, and screams, but Germany's fist is stuffed into his mouth, so his cry for help comes out only as a muffled squeak.

"Don't make noise, Poland. It'll just hurt more that way."

Aligning his knife properly, Germany pulls the blade towards him, slicing through Poland's neck. The blood floods down the pale skin, and Germany pulls his hand away, only to catch Poland as he falls, and jerk the knife across the front of the neck, ensuring death.

He can feel Poland's dying gaze on him, but he refuses to meet it. Why should he? He did what he came here to do. Surely anyone would understand that.

But no, not everyone. There was one person that Germany would not, could not allow to see what he was going to do. Because Poland wasn't the only one who remembered the War. And Germany refused to let Italy watch what was going to happen. No, he would not allow his beloved's eyes and mind to be stained with blood. He would protect him from that.

Wiping his knife on Poland's clothes, Germany puts it back in its original spot, and heads east.


	3. Chapter 3

The air smells of pasta, of subtle herbs and smooth oils. It is a welcoming scent, a scent that wraps Germany up and sooths his brain, calling him as a siren does. Stay here, it says. Sit down and stay, it calls to him. He wishes he could listen, that he could sit and forget all about his mission, what he came here to do. But he must go on.

Carefully, Germany moves through the quaint Italian house, noting with some disdain the frivolous paintings on the walls, the pointless decorations. It was a nice house, but silly. Silly, but beautiful. Just like the Italian he had come to visit.

"Feliciano?" His voice is rough and quiet, but he knows it won't go unheard. Sure enough, a light voice calls out his name from upstairs, and he follows it.

"Feliciano, Feliciano." He repeats the name over and over again as he goes up the stairs. Someone is singing- he can hear the quiet soprano that sends soft vibrations through the white walls. It is a voice he knows very, very well.

"Feliciano." His voice breaks, as he steps into another room, where his beloved sits in a soft chair, waiting for him, singing.

"Germany!" Feliciano, Italy, jumps up from his chair, and runs towards Germany. Germany smiles, and his heart breaks. That smile is so sweet, so ignorant of what is going on outside these walls. It makes Germany wish for a clear mind, for the ability to end his quest.

But he wants his honor back.

When Feliciano gets close enough, Germany reaches out as if to embrace him, pulls him in just a little closer, and then jerks his knife, drops of Poland's blood still clinging to the cold metal, across his throat.

There are no screams. Germany did not give Feliciano time to realize what was happening. He did not come here to hurt his beloved. He came here to save him from having to watch the other nations die.

Because die they would. They all remembered far, far too much.

Who next?

Ah, England. The older nation had a long memory, and he would never forget the bombing of London. To this day, Germany occasionally felt England's cool gaze on him, as if England was trying to find something he wanted to destroy.

Yes, England would be next.


	4. Chapter 4

Germany sat, in front of his dead lover, for an age, stroking the cold skin and burying his face in the soft hair. He did not cry, but his heart ached in his chest. Germany pressed one of his bloodstained hands to his chest and pushed, willing his heart to stay safe behind his rips. He had no wish to become like Ivan, who had abandoned his heart years ago. Without his heart, he wouldn't be able to remember why he was doing this.

Stroking Feliciano's dead face again, Germany smiled to himself. What did it matter, that Feliciano was dead? His scent still clung to his abandoned shell. That warm scent was all Germany needed to remember that what he was doing, was the right thing to do. As much as he had loved the Italian, he wasn't needed anymore. His lover was better off in some other place, with his Grandfather, able to turn his face away from the impending carnage.

Remembering, at last, that he had to leave, Germany kissed Feliciano's cold lips, and lay the corpse on the wooden floor carefully. He licked the blood off of his knife, and walked out the door, leaving his lover behind him.

"Potato Bastard!"

The voice seemed almost happy, in a very irritable way. If he hadn't been in such a focused mood, Germany might have been amused by the irritable companionship that voice portrayed.

"Romano."

How could he have forgotten Feliciano's brother, his southern half? The angry boy would never let him leave this house alive, if he discovered what had happened to his beloved younger brother.

So Germany kicked Romano in the stomach, hard. The older, yet less mature nation coughed, and then fell to his knees as Germany kicked him again, this time behind his knees, forcing them to collapse.

"Potato bast-" The hoarse insult was cut off as Germany slapped Romano across the mouth, and then began kicking him in the chest, until Romano's ribs cracked from the abuse, and his began to cough up blood.

There was no rhyme or reason to Germany's abuse, but the pain continued, as Germany covered every inch of Romano's body with bruises.

As Germany beat the nation before him into tiny broken pieces, he smiled serenely. Yes, this was nice. This was very nice. The nation's cries, stifled by floor, sent thrills down his spine. He had forgotten this power.

He remembered, now, why he had listened to Hitler all those years ago. It was for the promise of _this._ For the ability to stand over a crying, bleeding, broken nation with no remorse in his heart, only the fiery triumph that blazed in his eyes. This was what he was truly after. Starting over would not simply be making everyone forget. He would make everyone get on their knees and beg for him to lead them, and they would respect him.

When he was sure Romano was dead, Germany kicked the limp corpse with his feet, and pushed it to the side, leaving a wide bloody streak on the floor.

Now he could go see England.


	5. Chapter 5

There is a certain feeling to England's house. A rigid dignity, a stern stiffness. Germany sees this and approves of it, but he misses the sweet, effortless beauty of Feliciano's villa. It is a sturdy house, beautiful in its own way, but the beauty is tacky and pasted-on. There are paintings all along the wall. Germany rips them off. He rips them off the walls, one by one by one, until they litter the floor. He steps on the canvases and soft papers, splitting them and grinding them into pieces.

The paintings are not hard to remove, but they make noise when they fall to the floor. Germany looks at the chaos around him and then continues walking, following the paths his memory has traced for him. England's house is too big. There are too many things to destroy and rip and burn, that Germany could never get to them all.

Germany knows that he will be heard. He makes no effort to conceal his presence, ripping paintings from the walls as he walks, letting them crash to the floor. They make a hollow sound, a ringing note of finality that Germany quite likes. It's a pretty sound.

When a couple of guards come around the corner, Germany shoots them. They fall on top of a painting and lie there. Germany doesn't care if they're dead. He didn't come here to kill humans. He just wants to find England.

Leaving a trail of destruction behind him, Germany walks. He goes up the marble stairs, and down a hallway. He can hear an alarm ringing. More guards come, and he kills them. Then he sees England's room. There, just down the hallway. He remembers it. It was Feliciano, who had led him there so they could hide from the others and kiss to their hearts' content. Yes, he remembers this place.

Not bothering to knock, Germany knocks down the door. He smashes into it, sending the door flying off its hinges.

"England."

"Germany." The reply comes from the center of the lavish room. England is wearing his uniform, with a gun in his hand. Not taken by surprise, like Poland and Feliciano. Not defenseless, like Romano. A challenge.

"Ah, things are so complicated, are they not, England?" Germany rubs his hair, and pulls at. A few blonde strands come away with his fingers. "If only you hadn't made things so bad…"

England laughs. "Oh, so you're using that excuse again? You weren't content with being responsible for World War II, and so you want to start World War III, too?"

Germany moves closer, and draws his knife.

England raises his gun.

"You're being stupid, Germany."

"No, I'm not."

Lunging at England, Germany barely feels the pain as England's bullet rips through his arm. He pauses a moment, to realize that the bullet has only nicked him, and then he attacks.


	6. Chapter 6

Germany's knife slices through England's sleeve, and then Germany goes flying, as England flips him. He lands on his back, letting out as his breath as he does so, and then he's up again, his knife still in his hand.

"Come, England, let's play, shall we?" Germany laughs, and England shivers. That laugh is unnatural, more like a demon than a man.

"I think I'll pass." England turns and runs towards the door. But he's not fast enough. Germany tackles him, and begins stabbing England in the back, everywhere he can. England must be wearing something under his jacket, because the knife won't go in very far. It's not long before England flips himself around and kicks Germany off. England has lost his gun by this point, but they both have their knives. One bloody, one clean and unused in far too long. England has been dulled by these years of peace. As Germany's knife once again slices England's arm, he laughs. Germany isn't dulled, isn't weak. Germany is strong.

"You're getting old."

England snarls and attacks, driving Germany up against the wall. His knife forgotten, he smashes Germany's face with his fists, again and again. Germany grits his teeth and punches England in the gut, but England just keeps hitting him, and his vision begins to dim…

Suddenly, a slim copper pipe slams into the back of England's head, and England collapses to the floor.

"Are you in need of help, comrade?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Russia." Germany stared at the other nation. He wasn't shocked. He should have been expecting it, really. But why was Russia here?

"Germany!" Russia smiled back at him, childishly. Germany didn't trust that smile. "I'm here to help you!"

It wasn't that Germany didn't want the help. Russia was strong, and Russia was cra- no, don't say it, not that word. Neither of them were that word. Maybe Russia just saw the world more clearly, and now Germany was beginning to see it the same way.

Not crazy.

Not crazy at all.

"Why, Russia?" Germany wants to know. He wants to know why Russia is saying this. Will he have to kill Russia? Russia is a good fighter. He wants Russia's help.

Russia giggles. It is a giggle that would have scared Germany before, but now it brings a small smile to his face. The first smile he has had since he set out on this mission.

"I want to help."

Germany does not push it further. He does not need to. He and Russia look in each other's eyes, and they know the other understands. They both want to be strong. They both want to kill.

"Very well. Where to next?" Germany looks down, to see that England is missing. He stomps on the bloody spots on the floor. England must have woken up. He must have dragged himself off while Germany and Russia were talking. No worries. Germany would hurt him more when he saw him again.

"Aww, England escaped. Too bad, I wanted to twist his spine in half." Russia giggles again. "Let's go visit my sister! She'll help."

Germany nods, and he and Russia leave. They kill dozens of guards on their way, but they don't care. They have a destination, and they have a plan. Sort of.


	8. Chapter 8

"Bloody fucker."

England pulled himself up the wall, until he could support himself, somewhat. He was going a bit dizzy from blood loss, but that couldn't be helped. He needed to get to France's house, before Germany and Russia did. That is, if that was where they were going at all. He hadn't stuck around long enough to find out.

From far away, he could hear the sounds of guns, and screaming. High-pitched keening, not the resonating shriek of a nation. He could feel the deaths of his citizens like pinpricks on his fingers, clouding his mind even more. If he got to Francis's at all, it would be a miracle.

Eventually, though, he managed to drag himself out of his house, and into a car. From there, he drove as fast as he could, without getting pulled over, until he reached the ferry. The ferry's medic took care of his wounds, and fed him crackers, until they reached France. From there, England was on his own again.

---

"How much further, Russia?" Germany kicked another snow bank out of the way.

Belarus was living with Russia. Which meant they had to go to Russia's house. Not that Germany minded. It wasn't too cold.

Was that bad?

He couldn't feel the cold at all. It was warm. At least, inside of him, it was. He could feel the fire, the burning, melting heat that kept the cold at bay.

Russia looked over at him, and smiled, placing one hand on Germany's cheek. Germany looked into Russia's eyes. They were warm, soft eyes. How had he ever been afraid of them? They burned with the same fire as his. Those eyes understood him.

"Not far. You will be fine, da?" Russia removed his hand, still smiling, and climbed up a hill, Germany close behind him. There was a large house on top of the hill. It was stone, but it was well lit. Which meant it would be warm. Warm was nice.

"Sestra, I'm home!" When he closed the door behind them, Russia looked around, searching. He called out to Belarus, and waited patiently. Germany stood behind him, silent. He was in… well, not enemy territory anymore. What was Russia, now?

Russia turned around towards Germany, as if to speak. But he never got to, because a young woman crashed into his chest, and wrapped her arms around him in a death-grip.

"Brother! You are home! Let's get married now, Brother." Belarus looked up at Russia with cold, fierce eyes. Germany didn't miss Russia's shudder. He didn't blame him, either. Belarus was beautiful, but she was scary. There was something untamed and limitless about her passion that scared him. He was pretty sure it scared Russia too.

Russia pried his sister off, carefully.

"We need your help, Sestra."

Belarus sat in a chair, and stared up at her brother, her eyes bright and wild.

"Tell me what to do, Brother."


	9. Chapter 9

Never, in all his life, has England been so glad to be molested. He doesn't even care how touchy-feely the Frenchman holding him up is being. What matters is that France is there at all.

"Angleterre, what ever happened to you?"

England grips France harder, and his mouth turns downwards into a grim slash.

"Germany."

The jovial look on France's face slips away, and he pulls England around to face him, placing his hands on either side of England's face. There is no romance to his face, now. England would have slapped him if there had been. They both remember the Wars. France especially. France remembers what had happened last time.

"Let us go inside, Angleterre. We have things to do, I see."

"You really think we can stop him again? France, the bloody fucker has Russia on his side again."

"You remember what happened last time. Their alliance won't last long."

"Things are different, France. Germany is different. I'll... tell you inside. It's not something I want to say out in the open."

---

Germany is happy. He is happier than he'd been in a long time. He is going to be strong again. He knows it. Russia is with him, after all. But Russia isn't enough. Even with Belarus. They need...

"Privet, Germany."

Russia sits down beside him. He is chuckling. Germany likes that chuckle.

"Russia, we need someone else."

They are never going to be strong otherwise. Germany wants more help. He slides his knife along his arms, and feels the delicious prickling as the skin splits apart. Who, though, who? Who is strong enough to stand beside him? Not Austria, not Hungary, not Japan, not Canada or anyone. They are all weak and stupid. They are so content to stay as they are, and never go after power. Germany likes power. He has it in his hands again, finally. He will never let it go.

"You are not thinking of betraying me, are you, comrade?" Russia leans over and places one gloved hand on Germany's face again. It is not a kind touch. There is malice and violence in that touch, even if Russia is barely touching Germany's face.

Germany looks Russia in the eye, and he grins. He reaches out, and places a hand on Russia's face as well. Russia looks at him for a long time. Then he grins, and pulls his hand back slowly. He will not hurt Germany, Germany knows this.

Germany will not hurt Russia, either. Russia understands him. He will lead their little alliance to victory, but it will be Russia who supports him, who keeps him from straying from his path.


	10. Chapter 10

"Poland, Feliciano, and Romano. You are sure, England? Please, tell me you are joking." France's face is pale. He grips the tabletop with all the strength he has, and the wood begins to crack. England sits in a chair, bandages wrapped around his wounds, and nods. France curses Germany using every word he knows, as tears roll down his cheeks. He is speaking French, but England hears Feliciano's name more than once. And he hears something else.

"Je vais la tuer."

_"I will kill him." _

England stands, and places his hand on France's shoulder. France turns toward him, and collapses against him, more from disbelief this time than grief. His eyes are red and swollen, and his face almost seems dead.

"Why, England? Why Feliciano? Why would Germany kill him? Germany, of all people! They-they were in love! Germany loved him!"

England wraps his arm around France, and pulls him close. They are quiet, for a moment, as they take advantage of this, and simply hold each other. There is a promise, in their touch. A promise that, no matter what happens, they will see this through; for each other, and for all the other nations of the world.

"I love you, Angleterre."

"I love you to, wine-freak."

They pull away, and then they turn back to the table, with the map of the world that is spread over it.

"Who will they go after next?"

"Who knows. We don't even know where they are. But it's highly likely that Russia will want to go after Lithuania. Now that Poland's gone, who's to stand in his way?"

"But we need to warn everyone first."

"Who first?"

"Let us contact our sons, shall we? Alfred can spread the word much faster than either of us, Angleterre."

"I will do that."

---

Germany stands from his place in the chair. He has an idea. Over and over he thinks and plans and wonders if it might be possible. If it is, oh, how glorious it would be.

He has decided that he will not go to Prussia for help. Gilbert does not need to get involved. If he wishes to help, he will come, Germany knows that. There is no point in running after him.

"Russia, wake up."

The taller nation wakes, and blinks his eyes slowly.

"Da, Germany?"

Germany grins, and picks up his knife from where it had stuck into the seat cushion. Having a plan is wonderful. He knows just how things will go. He knows just what he wants to do. What he needs to do. This will be good, he knows it will. This will be fun.

"I know who we need to go kill."

"Hmm?"

"We need to go see China."


	11. Chapter 11

As the bitter cold of Russia fades to a softer warmth, Germany wakes from his sleep, and notices two things. The surroundings are no longer those of Russia, but of China, the place they have come to see. Also, Russia has one arm around his shoulders, and he has been pulled in close to the older nation, Russia's signature long coat settled across their laps.

Germany is not at all comfortable with this. He doesn't like being so close to anybody. He doesn't like being so close to Russia. Russia is too warm. Which is odd. He would have thought Russia would be colder. He smells nice, too.

"You are awake now, da? We have arrived."

From across the aisle of the small plane, Belarus glares at Germany, who pulls hurriedly away from Russia. Belarus smiles, and puts her arms around Russia.

"Brother, can we hurry up here? I want to get married."

Russia pushes her away roughly, and stands, pulling Germany to his feet. Germany looks out the window of the plane, and feels the ice rush back into his veins. China is close.

As they move into China's house, Germany stands in front, with Russia and Belarus flanking him. He has his gun in hand. Belarus has her knives, and Russia simply smiles childishly, with a demonic glimmer to his eyes. They are ready. He runs one finger down the muzzle of the gun, and pushes open the door to the great hall.

China is expecting them. He sits in a golden throne at the far end of the hall, one leg crossed over the other imperiously. There is a gun in his lap.

"Welcome, Germany."


	12. Chapter 12

There was silence on the other end, as England held the phone to his ear. He brushed his eyes with his sleeve angrily, and traded a guilty look with France.

"I'm so, so sorry Toris."

There is a confused laugh.

"England, what are you talking about? What happened?"

England takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to tell Toris. England doesn't want to say it out loud. That will make it true, and he doesn't know if he can handle that. But he owes it to Toris, the truth.

"Toris, I'm so sorry, but… Poland… is dead."

There is more laughter.

"You're kidding, right, England? This is just a joke! A silly, sick joke! You've got Feliks with you, don't you. He's right there. Please, please tell me you're kidding, England." His voice breaks on the last word, and there is sobbing, as Toris clutches the phone to his chest and cries. Then he hangs up, and wraps his arms around his knees. He doesn't need England to confirm it. He already knows it's true.

Then he picks up the phone again, and dials England's number. England picks up right away.

"Toris?"

"It was him, wasn't it. I always knew he hadn't forgotten Poland. He doesn't forget things like that. And _he's_ helping him, isn't he. They're a team now, aren't they. Again."

"Yes, Toris."

"Let me help you."

England and France trade another glance, and then nod at each other.

"Meet us at Alfred's in two hours."


	13. Chapter 13

As Germany and the others walk across the hall towards China's throne, China watches them. He knows why they are here. But he is not afraid. He knows what he wants to do.

So, when Germany drops to his knees in front of the throne, China simply smiles. When Germany looks up at him, a fierce look on his face, he smiles wider, and stands to his feet.

"You know what I want, China."

"Yes, Germany, I do."

"You will join us, then?"

China steps down from the throne, and pulls Germany to his feet. The gun is in his hand, and there is a dark glint to his eyes. The two look at each other. Germany smiles. He knows he is right. China wants power just as much as he and Russia do.

"Yes."


	14. Chapter 14

It was late, when Germany and his allies left China's house. They had spent hours making plans, deciding who they would go after, and in what order. It had been decided early on that they would go after the most powerful nations last. In the meantime, they needed to get rid of the smaller nations, the ones that would only stand in their way.

Taiwan and Hong Kong had told China they would stand with him before he even asked. China had said to Germany that he was glad of this. He was fond of the two, and did not wish to destroy them. They were his siblings, after all.

-

Meanwhile, across the ocean, America is clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, eyes flashing, while Canada stares at the ground in shock. England and France stand in front of them. There are a few moments of silence before America meets England's gaze.

"What are we going to do, England? Germany on the loose? _Again?_How did this happen? And with Ivan on his side? _What are we going to do, England?_" His voice is tense, tinged with the fury he is using to hide his fear.

Deep down, they are all afraid. None of them are as powerful as they used to be, and if Russia and Germany had found another ally, someone powerful, what would happen? Did the remnants of the great Allies stand a chance against a new Axis Powers?

"Alfred, calm down. Please. Yelling doesn't make things better." Canada places one quivering hand on his brother's arm, and looks up at his brother pleadingly. America looks at his brother, and breathes out heavily, placing one of his hands over Canada's.

"Well, now that's over with, let's get on with things, shall we? We've got a monster on the loose." England pulls a folded map from his pocket, and spreads it out on the wide wooden table that stands between the two pairs of nations.

"Germany has already been here, here, here, and here." England pulls a package of pins from his pocket, and stabs one into Poland, Italy, Russia, and China, respectively. "We know for certain that Poland is-" He swallows, "-dead. Feliciano is also d-deceased, as is his brother. Russia has joined Germany's side, and China's status is, as of now, unknown. At this moment, we don't know where they're going to go next."

The door opens then, and Lithuania steps through the door. His hair is wild, as if he has just gotten out of bed, and his clothes are wrinkled. His eyes are bright with both sorrow and rage, and a slow fire burns in their depths.

"They're going to go to Switzerland."

France blinks.

"Vash's house? _Pourquoi?_"

"Because Switzerland stayed neutral during the War, but he helped hide the Jews who were fleeing Germany. Germany's not going to forgive him for that." Lithuania sits in a chair beside France, and rests his elbows on his knees. " We have to get to Vash before they do."

England frowns.

"I don't know. That… doesn't sound like Germany."

Lithuania glares at him. "Of course it doesn't! Don't you get it? This isn't Germany we're dealing with! This is some twisted, poisoned version of him! It isn't going to think like the Germany we're used to!"

Canada nods timidly. "L-lets go see Vash. Just to make sure he's okay, you know?"

England sighs. "Very well."


	15. Chapter 15

"Little Latvia, what are you scared of?"

Ivan smiles, and kisses the smooth barrel of the gun before he places it between him and the much smaller nation. There is a icy glimmer to his eyes, that makes Latvia shiver, pressing himself back against the back of the couch. He tries not to look across the room, at Estonia's mangled body lying against the wall, but he doesn't want to look at Ivan, either.

"Come now, little Latvia. We're running out of time."

Germany stands behind Ivan, behind the couch, while Belarus stands behind Latvia. She has her knives in her hand, and she places one smooth blade to Latvia's neck.

"Do as Brother says."

Her voice is rough and cold. Latvia picks up the gun, and takes a breath. He does not want to do this. Not at all. But he has no choice. If there is even a slim chance that he could win this game, he will take it, because he knows he will never leave this house alive.

Latvia looks away from Ivan, and places the gun to his temple. The cool metal feels like Ivan's fingertip, and he shudders at the memory of that touch. Ivan smiles, as if he can read Latvia's thoughts, can see the horrible memories of what happened just a few moments ago.

_There is a quiet knocking on the door. Latvia looks up.___

_"Estonia, who's that?"___

_The older nation shrugs, but stands. For a moment, Latvia feels the urge to stop him, to keep him from opening that door. He doesn't know why, so he lets Estonia open the door with a small smile on both of their faces, expecting a visitor.___

_"Hello, Estonia." The first syllable is all that it takes to send Latvia into a round of shivering, pressing himself back against the chair.___

Please, please let this be a joke. Let it be someone else. _He begs.__Please.___

_But of course, his prayers go unanswered. They always have. When he hears bone crunching beneath some hard surface, he closes his eyes and turns his head away. He knows what is happening, and he has no desire to watch Russia bash Estonia's head in with that pipe.___

_"Hello, Latvia. You will play a game with me, da?" Russia places one hand on top of Latvia's head, and smiles at him. "Da, you will." His grip tightens in Latvia's hair, and he drags Latvia off of the chair and over to a small table in the kitchen.___

_"Let's play a game, Latvia! It is a fun game. I'm sure you remember it." Russia places the revolver on the table between them, and smiles._

"Latvia, do not keep Russia waiting. Russia is so impatient, da? You would not want Russia to have to help you play."

Latvia can feel the cool metal of Belarus's knife against his knife, and he knows that really, he has no choice. He can either die by this gun, or by Belarus's knife. So he looks Ivan in the eyes, the only defiant gesture he can give, and pulls the trigger.

"Let's go, Russia." Germany looks at the pool of blood on the floor and motions for Belarus to let Latvia's corpse drop. She removes her arm from around its neck, and the corpse falls to the ground. Russia licks specks of blood off of his fingers, eyes closed in bliss, and then follows Germany out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

The old rivalry, that ancient, deep hatred that runs in their veins and turns them against and away from each other; a desire for power, to claw their way above the other, and be the best. They love and they hate each other, but they can never avoid each other. No matter what they do, Japan and China are drawn together again and again, to laugh one moment and then fight the next. They are connected.

And so China sits in the dirt and waits, two ancient, precious hook swords in his lap and his eyes closed. Germany is pacing beside him, and Russia sits with his sister by one of the ancient trees that surround them. There is silence, only silence. Even Germany's heavy footsteps don't dare make a noise. No sound is brave enough to break the thread that weaves through the air, a red string that hangs delicately, as if it will snap if you speak. Of course, as China knows very well, that string never breaks. It stretches and it tangles and it frays, but it is there all the same. And it is leading Japan to him.

It is only when Germany finally stills that the first faint footsteps can be heard. There is barely a crackle of a leaf, but Japan opens his eyes with a start, watching the place where the trail curves. The red thread hums and tightens, until China is pulled to his feet by its pull.

"Chugoku-Senpai." The formal address is bland and emotionless, a tone that China has long come to associate with pain. Japan is standing there, a dozen meters ahead, with his katana hanging low in his hands. He is staring at China with dark brown eyes that burn into his gaze. Those are not the dull, kind eyes that Japan looks at everyone else with. These are the eyes that are reserved just for him. China hates those eyes. They make him hate Japan, because those eyes make him feel weak. And China refuses to be weak.

"Kiku." China does not bother to act polite. The blood is racing in his veins, drawing the red thread in and pulling it taut. He wants to be near to China, to _his _Kiku, so that he can tear him apart, so he can cut that red string for good. That thread hurts. It burns his mind because it's always there, he can never ignore it. It's always, always pulling him towards that younger nation who makes him feel so intensely. He hates Kiku, and Kiku hates him too. And he's all right with that.

Russia and Germany move towards China, but he shakes his head. He won't let them touch Kiku, because Kiku is his. Kiku will always be his.

With a flash and a quick intake of breath, the two leap forward and clash. China blocks Japan's first attack, and then attacks, slashing and stabbing as Japan uses his _precious_ katana to block him. The come together and draw apart, but they never stay far away from each other, and they never stay apart for long, always attacking and defending again.

The two seem to dance, as the others watch. They glide and flow around each other, as if they've fought like this a thousand times, and they already know what the other is going to do. Perhaps, Germany says to himself, they do. Maybe they know each other so well they don't have to remember past battles, because they understand how the other fights. It's as if they're two parts of a whole, two parts that have been so mangled and broken that they can't fit together anymore. It's sad.

"China is taking a long time. He should beat Japan now. I want to visit Ukraine." Russia's hand moves to rest on Germany's shoulder, his elbow nearly Germany's broad back. Germany turns and faces Russia, and Russia places his other hand on Germany's other shoulder. They look at each other, and then Germany pushes Russia's arms away and turns back to watch the battle.

"They'll finish up soon enough."

Indeed, the fight seems to be almost done already. China and Japan are breathing hard. One of China's swords is on the ground. In low voices they speak to each other, the quiet words carried on the winds to Germany's ears.

"Please." He can't see who's talking. But he knows it's Japan. China never sounds that sad.

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

Japan gives a quiet sigh, and then he pulls away from China, who watches him. Japan bows, and then he is gone, running down the path and out of sight. China makes no move to follow him. Instead, China picks his sword up. He turns to the others, his clothes and face streaked with dirt.

"Let's go."

China is angry, with himself and the raven-haired nation who ran away from him. He wants to fight more, until both he and Japan collapse on the ground and fade away from their exhaustion. But Japan ran away. Japan asked him if they could stop fighting. China won't stop fighting, not ever, until he wins.

"We will be heading to my elder sister now, da? I'm sure she will be very happy to see us." Russia smiles, ignorant to the fury in China's eyes. " We shall go to her house now!"


	17. Chapter 17

Giggling, Russia twirls his pipe. He spins it through the air, and giggles even more at the silly swishing sound it makes as it slices through the air. Such a silly sound. Not as silly as what he's hitting with it, though. Oh, his sister was always such an oddball. She was far, far too nice and soft and squishy. And now he was turning her into jelly! Another giggle. Pure Ukrainian jelly! Oh, it was too much.

"Germany, would you like to kill her?" Turning to his comrade, Russia grabbed Germany's hand and curled the younger nation's finger around the trigger. Germany looked at him, and then smiled and pulled the trigger once, twice, and then a third time, drawing a bloody triangle on Ukraine's forehead. Her face was still stuck in a twisted portrait of pain and horror. Her eyes bulged out, and her jaw, smashed to pieces by a certain slim pipe, was a lumpy mass that hung from her face, blood trickling down it like tears.

Germany watched the corpse of Russia's older sister with interest. Russia had done such a magnificent job. Russia was a good ally. He liked having Russia around. Russia knew how to do this kind of thing. He didn't mess up.

Meeting Russia's gaze, Germany smiled. He was so close to redeeming himself, to making everyone forget what he had done. So close. And Russia was helping him.

"Come, _mein Russland_. We have to get to Switzerland."


	18. Chapter 18

Stepping off of the plane, England and America look at each other briefly. They are worried about China, which was why they had come here. If China is in danger, they will protect him.

Taking Canada's hand, America leads the way into the shadowy, ancient temple, tracing a path they'd all followed a hundred times. This was China's favorite place. If he was to be found, in his massive country, it would be here.

When they at last reach the great throne room, England rushes into the room first, looking around for China.

"Yao-" England's yell is cut off sharply as a folded metal fan slams into the back of his neck, knocking him unconscious.

Alfred reaches out to grab at the older nation, but a slim Chinese sword blocks his path. He looks into the shadows, and his eyes widen the tiniest bit. Pushing his brother behind him, Alfred pulls his trusty Smith&Wesson from its holster. The two figures that had attacked him and England move into the light. Taiwan and Hong Kong stand side by side, holding their respective weapons, blocking Alfred from getting to England.

"Move aside, you two. I don't know what's happened to China, but I don't want to hurt you guys."

Hong Kong snorts.

"Nothing's happened to Yao. He's perfectly fine."

"Then wha-" Alfred's bow crinkles, and then he collapses onto the floor at Hong Kong's feet, a bruise growing on his temple from where the fan Taiwan threw at him hit. Blood trickles from his nose and stains his lips as his vacant eyes stare up at his attackers.

Grinning, Taiwan looks at Canada with delight.

"This is where you run, Canada! This is where you run and scream and cry like a good little boy. Us big boys and girls have work to do. Yao and the others will want to talk to these two, after all. Run along."

When Canada doesn't move, Hong Kong raises his sword. With that, Canada flees down the hall, crying and whispering apologies to the two nations lying on the floor, now captives, far behind him.

"I couldn't have helped them. I couldn't, I couldn't, I couldn't!" Clinging to France's front, Canada  
pressed his face into the soft fabric of France's shirt and sobbed. He could still see the two, laying on the floor as if dead, with Hong Kong and Taiwan standing above them, their eyes glittering with insane triumph. What had they become? What had Germany done to them? What had be done to China?

"Hush, _Mattieu_. Repeat to me what they said, before you left."

Taking a deep breath, Canada relaxed against France's side as the older nation stroked his hair gently in slow, soothing motions.

"Taiwan just said… to run. And that she was going to take Al and England to Ch-China. I should have saved them, Papa! I should have done something!"

"Oh, _mon amour_, don't blame yourself. You are not at fault. Now, we must assume that China has gone over to Germanys side. Which means we have one less possible ally. But that is not important. At least, not for the moment. We need to retrieve _Amerique et Angleterre_. "

France stood, and took Canada's hand.

"Come, _Mattieu_. The others are waiting. We must tell them what we know."

When Canada had finished retelling his short tale to Spain, Greece, and Turkey, who had arrived while he was gone, and to Lithuania and Japan, the seven nations grimaced in unison.

"So Germany's got Russia, Belarus, China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan?" Turkey whistled. "Not bad, for a psycho."

Greece glared at Turkey, who glared back. Greece raised his head from the table, and tilted it to the side.

"Has anyone heard from Switzerland yet?"

All the nations look at each other, and rush for their phones as they rush towards the door. If they are too late… Oh, please, let them not be too late.


	19. Chapter 19

Japan woke at nightfall, his cat-like senses telling him that something was not quite right with the world. He smiled politely at Canada and offered to take the first watch.

"O-oh! You don't need to do that, Kiku! I-I'm fine staying up late!" The Canadian's halting argument was interrupted by yawns. He rubbed at his eyes, and then seemed to realize what he was doing, and began fiddling with his sweatshirt, embarrassed. "I want to help."

Japan shook his head. "You require rest, young Canada. I will take the watch." When the blonde had wriggled into a sleeping bag, Japan whispered "Sleep well" and then leaned against a tree to watch over the camp.

He, Lithuania, Canada, France, Spain, Greece, and Turkey were just beyond Switzerland's house, camping for the night until they could proceed with stealth. After the kidnapping of America and England, they were all much more cautious. Losing two of their own had shaken them, but they had discussed the matter earlier, and they knew it would be foolish to attempt a rescue so soon. Taiwan and Hong Kong were intelligent, capable fighters, and insanity had made them strong.

So deep in his thoughts, Japan didn't hear the rustle of the leaves behind him, and when he felt a presence behind him, it was too late to react. Before he could draw his katana or do anything at all, his back was pressed against the tree, and there were arms tightened around him, preventing escape.

_"Ni hao, my Wa."_

Japan's lips stiffened, his only reaction to China's sudden appearance.

"Good evening, China."

China freed one of his arms, and clasped Japan's chin playfully.

"Hmmm? Are you not going to comment on that nickname? It has been far too long since you've called yourself that. It is so much cuter than what you call yourself now."Instead of answering, Japan looked at the ground. China smiled at him, for all the world an older brother teasing the younger. "You don't like it? But it fit you so well. So short and stoic, and yet so fragile."

Japan sighed. "If I may ask, what do you wish to gain from visiting me here?"

Chuckling, China wrapped both of his arms around Japan's waist again. He ran his fingers across the soft fabric that made up the back of Japan's coat, and plucked a bit of thread from it. An imperfection. He slid his hand up to Japan's shoulder to get a view of the thing, which had the added effect of pressing Japan even harder against the tree.

Holding the thing up to the moonlight, China frowned. A red thread. He had been hoping for something more interesting. He dropped the thread, and watched it float back to cling to Japan's jacket stubbornly.

"Ah, my little Wa, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to kill you." China smiled into Japan's eyes, his own eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Not now, and not soon. But someday, someday. As I would have said years ago, "Let's have fun, aru~!""

Japan made his move then, kicking out at China's kneecaps. As if anticipating the attack, China slid to the side, letting Japan's foot swing up into the air, knocking the younger nation off balance. China shook his head at the other, faking disappointment.

"I thought I raised you better than that, my Wa."

Japan tried to escape again, but China held him back. And again. And again, until they were both beginning to sweat, and heat pulsed where their bodies met.

They could have been lovers, the way they were, arms twining around each other's waists, leaning gently against the rough bark of the oak. For a moment, China's iron grip softened, and he leaned forward to place a kiss on Japan's forehead. And then he was gone, as quickly and silently as he had arrived.

Shivering, Japan drew his katana, and sat in the center of the camp, keeping an eye on everything around them until Canada woke, and it was his turn to sleep.


End file.
